Storm of the Century
by bkppr1066
Summary: Jane and Maura cope with the worst winter storm Boston's ever seen.


**Storm of the Century**

**Jane and Maura cope with the worst winter storm Boston's ever seen. This might be Nemo; it might be another time. We shouldn't be surprised. Rizzles from the get-go. Rated T for language, minimal violence, sexual situations.**

**DISCLAIMER: Still gettin' up early in the morning. Guess I don't own 'em. (sigh).**

**Part 1: Shift Change**

Four thirty a.m. Maura stays in bed where it's warm. Outside the window it's howling, roaring, keening like Dickens' lost souls. Seventy miles an hour. Maura rarely _drives_ that fast. It's hard to imagine air moving with that much force.

The closet light is on. Jane's moving around, getting dressed. Where is she going?

"Where are you going?"

She has her uniform on. The tactical uniform, with the heavy winter blouse, the wool hood worn under the eight-point hat. Street gear.

"My shift." Two hours. Maura remembers. All hands on twelve shifts, uniforms, plainclothes, special units, everybody. For the duration of the emergency. She and Frost will be out in this horrible slop, keeping Boston safe.

For a delicious moment, Maura is totally selfish. _Fuck Boston. She stays here with me. If anybody out there freezes solid, they deserve it._

No. Of course not. This is Jane's job; she has to do it. She's good at it. She loves it.

_I wish I could be fully sure she loved me more. It's like watching someone take your favorite toy and break it._

Then maturity takes over, devotion, sacrifice. She half-sits up, on her elbows. "Bye." She wants to say "be careful", but Jane hates being fussed over. Instead, "I love you."

Jane sits on the bed. Maura holds her. Not clingy, not possessive. Just...promising. _Come back to me. In one piece. No holes. No broken bones. Please. I'll be here._

Jane senses her fear. "I had Kowalski put the studded tires on the cruiser on Wednesday. That Crown Vic is built like a tank." Kiss, a sweet kiss. "Love you too. I'll be home by eight and we can have breakfast."

Maura smiles, and it's both sweet and lewd at the same time. "Or whatever."

"Whatever. Oh, yeah." Another kiss. _Please don't stop._

Jane goes out the door. Maura shouts "Jane! Eat something!"

"Granola bar!" She hears the garage door rumble up, then down, and Jane is gone into the treacherous white mess outside.

Forget about sleeping any more this morning. Until she comes back, anyway.

_I'm so in love with her. I believe it. I've never understood what that means. All my life, it keeps changing. Am I giving her what she needs?_

Trying to ignore the chattering dialogue in her head, Maura heads downstairs to make coffee.

######

Somebody in the assembly room made coffee. There's not a coffee shop open in Boston; the Governor's state of emergency order shut everything down, including vital essentials like coffee production (Maura gets to stay home; dead people can wait until it's safe to drive. The café is dark; Ma gets to stay home, too).

She and Frost have drawn the Storrow Park waterfront detail, which mostly calls for checking on the homeless folks who shelter under the Highway Three embankment. Try and get 'em to shelters, at least keep an eye on 'em. If necessary, and they're doing anything illegal, arrest 'em so they can at least spend the night in a warm holding cell. This suits her fine, because she's anxious about Rondo, and wants to make sure he's okay.

Not that she gives a rat's ass for the guy, she tells Frost. But he is a valuable CI she'd hate to lose.

"Uh-huh", mutters Frost, looking at her sideways through a cloud of steam from his coffee.

######

She's a mess. Frost's mess. The heater in the cruiser going full blast, and they've both still got snow stuck to their caps, their shoulders. Frost's eyebrows are white with rime. Jane is sure no amount of coffee will ever thaw out her icy insides.

When she dies and goes to hell, she'll be prepared. Fire and brimstone have got nothing on _this_.

And after two hours on the street, no sign of Rondo. They pulled five homeless guys into three different shelters, talked to a dozen more who wouldn't go. They also found three bodies, frozen to death in makeshift tents. No Rondo.

She stomps her way back into the station, shaking off wet snow at every step. She signs the duty roster, officially releasing her to go home. But she takes a moment to check out holding, just to see if Rondo might have been picked up. No sign, and none of the inhabitants (those who don't shower her with abuse) haven't seen him either.

She goes back to assembly. Frost is still there. They have to fill out a short report, which they could do when the storm abates, or they could do it now. She leans over the table and shivers. Bitching about how cold she is. Her scars hurt when she's cold. Frost says if she had more meat on her bones, she wouldn't be so cold. She doesn't need more meat on her bones. She needs _Maura_ on her bones, is what she needs.

_I need Maura everywhere, all the time. How did I let myself get so hopelessly dependent? Damn, I love her. I was such an idiot, not seeing it all that time. Fool._

They finish the stupid report. She could have another cup of coffee. But she wants to go _home_. She could stay and shoot the shit with the other cops. But she _wants to go home._ She could have a donut (probably day-old but who cares? Glowing golden in their box). _But she wants to go HOME._

"Are we done, Frost? I want to go home."

"You are so whipped."

_Guilty as charged. Next shift is coming in. Fuck this._

She's going home. To Maura. The very thought makes her warm.

######

It is full daylight but you'd never know it. The snow is so dense, almost no sunlight penetrates. Jane drives with her lights on, for all the good that does, and creeps – literally, at about ten miles an hour – through the deserted streets to home. They'd better be deserted. She's supposed to arrest anybody who doesn't have a damn good reason to be out in this.

Rondo. He must be out there somewhere. He might've been out there when she was, with Frost. Hell, Rondo could have been ten feet away when they were in the park and she wouldn't have seen him. You couldn't see your own hands through the snow.

Maybe she'll get warmed up, eat a decent breakfast and go out again, try to find him. It's fucking dangerous out here. If Maura'll let her. That might become a conversation.

As she passes the front of the house, turns through the port-cochere', into the garage, her mind registers something weird. Was that a bundle on the front stoop? Up in the doorway? Jane, your brain is frozen. You're losing it.

But she checks anyway. The cop part of her brain insists, as well as the protect-Maura-at-any-cost part of..._all _of her. She braves that flattening wind to walk around the front of the house.

Jesus. There is something there. No. _Somebody_ there.

Huddled in the doorframe, wrapped in a blanket, a dark wool hat on a dark head. She gets closer, one hand on her gun.

_Rondo_.

She shakes his shoulder. "Hey. Rondo. Wake up."

He looks up, and smiles that brilliant smile. Jane wonders how someone homeless for so long can have such perfect teeth.

"Hey, Vanilla! Been waitin' on you." He stands up, a little stiffly, but still spry. Jane shouts.

"Rondo, what're you doing here? You're gonna freeze your skinny ass off. People are dying in this shit. I don't want to have the squad chip you off our doorstep! What the hell...why didn't you go in? There _is_ a doorbell, you know."

"Nah, I didn't wanna wake up Missus Vanilla. Figured you'd be back soon."

"How'd you know I wasn't already here?"

"Word was _out_, Vanilla. You was trackin' me down. Went to the station but they said you'd already left. Gone home. So I rushed on over here to meet you."

"Well where the...For Christ's sake, Rondo, let's get inside. Before _I_ freeze to death." She punches the code and they step into the enveloping warmth of the house.

The house is _so_ warm that, despite standing up, she almost falls asleep. Maura, with her typical systematic foresight, has put down rubber mats in the foyer, knowing Jane would be a dripping slob when she came in. As usual, Maura is right about that.

She comes rushing out, a hot cup in her hand, a dry towel in the other. Now is the time for fussing, when the danger is passed and she can indulge her fears by mothering her woman. But Jane has company.

"Rondo. How nice. Can I get you some coffee?" Maura smiles with genuine warmth, knowing Rondo is more that just a business relationship or Jane; he is a friend, and any one whom Jane makes a friend is special.

Rondo shakes his head, stamping his feet to shake off the cold. "No, Missus Vanilla, I can't stay, I was hopin' Vanilla here could help me before she..."

That little groove appears between Maura's eyebrows. "What, Rondo? What's wrong? Oh, and Jane and I aren't..." She decides to let that one alone. Land mine, land mine.

"I gotta find a friend. Been lookin' for'im all day."

Jane interjects, "What's going on?"

"Well he's a friend. Someone I owe, y'see? And...well, he's a junkie. He said he was gonna score and shoot, spend the storm high before the supply dried up. But I hear he didn't score. All the dealers gone south. No product anywhere. He could be real sick."

"And you want me to find him?" Jane's tone is doubtful.

"You're the best, Vanilla."

"Look, Rondo...", Jane says, her skepticism now fully apparent.

"Jane, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure."

They step off into the living room, out of Rondo's hearing. Maura put her hand on Jane's arm; her sleeve is wet and clammy. "I don't want you to go out there again..."

"I don't either."

"But it looks like we have to."

"What...really?"

"That man might die out there. It's the least we can do. Rondo's a friend."

"I guess. Wait..._we_?"

"If you go, I go."

"Absolutely not."

"He may be ill. Withdrawal. He could freeze to death and not even know it. I might be able to help. I'm a doctor."

"I know that. But this isn't a mercy mission."

"Isn't it?"

Jane balls her fists, stamps a foot. "You are _not_ going."

"I am. Or else."

"'Or else' _what_?"

Maura grabs Jane by one of her coat lapels, whispers hoarsely into her face, "If you expect to see me naked at any time in the foreseeable future, then I _am_ going with you."

Jane swears under her breath, "Son of a ..."

"Language, Jane."

"All right, Maura! Get ready and get in the car. Fast!"

"Thank you."

"And be practical. Not those high-heeled black leather boots."

"But you like those."

"And you look amazing in them. But not in two feet of.."

Maura smiles wickedly, and Jane knows she's been played.

#####

**Part 2: Rescue**

They cruise through the streets, painfully slowly, stopping anyone on foot they see, Jane asking questions, urging people to get inside. Once, twice, three times, Jane fights with the car as it fishtails and threatens to spin on the slick, greasy street. "where are we likely to find this guy, Rondo?"

"He's got a crib by the highway, on the edge of the park, but he wasn't there this morning. I checked it out."

"Yeah I was out there earlier, too. Lots of empty places."

"Y'know, he might be in a church."

"Why?"

"We all call him the Preacher. He likes to stand out in front'a churches and sermonize, y'know?"

Does he get busted for that?"

"Oh, sometimes. But they never keep him long."

"Would he go inside?"

"Usually, no. Hates churchy people. Says they're all goin' to hell...'scuse me, doc. No offense."

"None taken." Maura is ensconced in the back seat, so "Rondo can navigate." Actually to Jane's mind, it's the safest spot in the car.

Despite her heart being somewhere near her larynx, Maura knows better than to pester Jane about any aspect of her driving. Jane is an expert driver ( whose training, in part, was augmented by Maura's birthday gift of a Racing School course), and Maura reposes as much faith in Jane's expertise as her knowledge of Newton's Laws will allow.

"So you think he might be in a church."

"By one, anyway. Outside."

"All right. Let's start checking out churches. Can you give me a better description?"

######

He was at the first church they stopped at.

A big, old church on the west edge of Beacon Hill. It was one of the peculiar anomalies of urban life here that a homeless tent village should be separated from swank Beacon Hill only by the width of a single highway. The makeshift shelters were always temporary because the Department periodically issued directives to clear the homeless squatters out, arrest anyone found in violation, and try to get the others into city or privately sponsored shelters. But many of them didn't last or find places in the shelters, either because they'd decided that shelter life wasn't for them, or they persisted in behaviors, like continued substance abuse, that the shelters found unacceptable, or that there simply wasn't enough room. Just like every city in America.

A shadowy figure, on the steps of the church, madly gesticulating, shaking it's fist in rage, arms waving, spread wide. There is not a soul out besides the Preacher, who as they approach, can be heard roaring imprecations, defiance, curses; invoking the wrath of an angry God. It's hard to understand what he's saying, between the roar of the wind and his own irregular articulation; Maura catches one phrase: "_Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these! Adultery! Fornication! Uncleanness! Lasciviousness!.._.". The rest is lost in garble, but the rant goes on, interrupted by convulsions, attacks that cause the man to bend almost double, clutching his stomach; he is in the most painful stages of opiate withdrawal. Maura has seen that before.

He is wearing threadbare jeans, a black T-shirt, and a desert camouflage combat jacket. His only concession to the cold is a wool cap. As they approach, Jane notices that the man has, tattooed on his forearm, the globe-and-anchor of the Marine Corps. He has two badges pinned to his jacket, and three commendation ribbons; these she recognizes: Silver Star, Purple Heart, Afghanistan Campaign. Jane learns a lot from that. HOARWELL, the name badge reads.

The Preacher recognizes Rondo, seems to focus briefly. "Rondo, man, what you doin'? Gonna help me save some souls? "_This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come!_" These are perilous times, the Lord is upon us, man!"

"C'mon, Arnie. You're gonna freeze to death. Come with me. These are my friends. They're here to help.. Let's go where it's warm."

Arnie looks at Maura, focuses as if he thinks he knows her. "Please come with us, Chaplain," Maura asks, and Jane and Rondo look up in surprise. Maura nods at the jacket. "The two badges. Navy Chaplain. Military aviator."

Jane begins "How do you know..." But then the Preacher erupts. "_No cops! Don't want no cops! Get the hell away from me!"_

Jane had completely forgotten she was in uniform.

Rondo has his hand around his friend's arm, gently pulling him down the steps, toward the car, Jane takes the other arm, and they escort him across the sidewalk. He continues to rain down curses.

"_...there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth!"_

The Preacher struggles, resists; he's not goin' in no cop car. He thrashes, pulls loose from Rondo's grip, reaches behind him.

Maura sees the thin knife blade, recognizes it before her brain registers the danger it poses. She is the first and only one to see it; Jane's back is turned, one hand on the Preacher's left arm, reaching for the rear door handle, and Rondo is off balance. It emerges low, and the path to Jane's back is slow; time is stretched to almost unbearable limits, as if Maura's perception alone could rip the space-time fabric. She pushes against Rondo, almost rolling across him, as she shoots out her right arm, but it doesn't shoot; it uncoils deliberately, in accord with the decelerated passage of time. She means to seize the Preacher's wrist, but she misestimates; the distortion of time makes all such projections unreliable.

Her hand wraps around the blade. Razor-sharp, it cuts through her leather glove, into her palm, and a bloom of blood gushes out of her closed fist.

It's the sight of her own blood that brings the clocks back to normal. Time snaps back to its regular, frantic passage.

There's pain.

Rondo rushes in, grasps the Preacher's hand with both his own, forces the knife from his grip. Jane turns at Rondo's shout, sees the blood, and her color changes, like a chameleon, with rage. She pushes the Preacher back, spins him, she and Rondo are holding him, she slams the Preacher up against the cruiser, brutally, vengefully. She raises her hand to strike.

"No, Jane! Don't."

Maura's voice cuts through the howling wind, restraining Jane as effectively as a grip on her raised arm. Jane frisks the Preacher, looking for any other weapon. Finding none, Jane opens the rear door, she and Rondo manhandle the Preacher into the rear seat. She turns to Maura.

"He cut you! Are you..." She seizes Maura's injured hand, works off the slashed glove. The cut runs all the way across her palm. It's still oozing blood. The fleshy pads at the base of her fingers have been sliced open and the raw flesh beneath the skin is exposed. Maura already has a handkerchief in her other hand, but her left hand isn't dextrous enough to bind the wound. Jane helps. She looks in Maura's eyes. "What happened?"

Maura can't really explain. She saw the knife, aimed at Jane, and she...reacted. Without conscious thought. Without planning. Jane was in immediate , lethal danger. She acted as best she could to protect Jane, and didn't think about any other consequence. There was no reasoning involved. Later, she'll rationalize the whole thing in terms of autonomic responses, reflexes, epinephrine spikes, tachypsychia, norepinephrine and dopamine.

But for now all this comes out covered in a mousy, hushed "It's nothing."

She feels Jane's arms around her.

_I only was thinking of you. Of your blood on my hands, like the last time. I didn't want that again. _

"It's not nothing when you bleed like that. You need to go to a hospital."

_You care about me. You love me. What does that mean? Why?_

"_He_ needs to go to a hospital, Jane. He's in acute withdrawal. He's hypothermic. If he doesn't get care, he'll die. This is just a cut. I'll live. Let's get in the car. I'm cold."

Maura gets in the front seat, babying her right hand. Jane starts the car, checks the back where Rondo is holding down the Preacher, who seems to be in a depressive phase. "Mass General's just up the street. We'll take him there."

Rondo shakes his head. "You take him to a hospital, they keep 'im the night, and then they let 'im go. Got no room for street folks."

Jane looks at Maura. "Take him to BCU. I know people there."

"Maura, that's on the Cambridge side. I don't even know if the bridges are open."

"I have no doubt that you can use your magical cop superpowers to get past a traffic barrier. Now please hurry."

"in this weather, 'hurry' is a relative term."

######

**Part 3: Chocolate and Substance**

It's dark now, as they come in their own door, the drive back another nightmare of pitch black depth and treacherous streets. They left Rondo at the shelter he usually stays at, and the Preacher at the hospital, in the care of Maura's colleague Dr. Singh; he'll see to it that the Preacher, aka Arnie Hoarwell, aka Captain Arnold Hoarwell, USMC (ret.), gets into a detox program for combat veterans, counseling, and proper pain management. And that he stays there. There won't be any charges over the unfortunate incident with the knife.

On the way back, Rondo tells them some of Arnie's story. How he flew helicopters in Afghanistan. How a crash injured his back and hips, and the treatment he had left him in constant pain. How he was involved in some civilian deaths during a raid, deaths that haunt his waking and sleeping visions. How the nightmares terrified him, the pain tortured him, and the painkillers and, finally, the heroin, owned him. And how the religion of his childhood made him mildly famous, the fiery sermons he preached to his unit on Sundays drawing crowds, most who came just to listen and be entertained. And some who believed.

As they close the door, the world outside just...disappears. It's Jane and Maura again, safe, warm, happy.

Mostly.

Jane settles Maura on the sofa, dashes up the stairs to shed her uniform. She dashes down again, kisses Maura quickly, rushes to the kitchen where, in about five minutes, she produces two cups of steaming hot chocolate, made from the homemade mix Maura keeps in her pantry.

"What's this? No beer?" Maura asks as she carefully balances the cup with her left hand. Her right hand is swaddled in gauze, and is a blob the size of a small grapefruit at he end of her arm. It'll be like that for about eight days, while the stitches heal and dissolve.

"It's a rule. You come in from the cold, from a snowstorm, you drink hot chocolate. Ma always had it ready when we came home from school in the snow."

Maura smiles at Jane's warm memory, but the smile is a little wistful. Jane knows Maura's moods, and doesn't need computer help to get the microexpressions.

"What?"

"Oh...I remember...I think I was five. My father took me sledding one time. He was home, we'd had a snowstorm. Mother was terrified, was convinced I'd break a bone, and I wasn't too keen on the idea, myself. I didn't see the sense in climbing a hill just to slide down it."

"Let me guess. You spent the time doing physics."

"Well, not really. I _was _only five. But I did have fun. I fell off the sled a lot, but Father just laughed and put me back on and rode on behind, and we went down a few times, It was fun. One of the best times I spent with either parent." Maura sighed, as if cleansing her mind. "But it _was_ kind of an introduction to physics, to how the things I'd been reading about actually worked. And I think it was the first time I formulated a real scientific problem."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. All the way home I kept asking myself why the sled slid down the hill when there was snow on it, but not when there was no snow, just grass. I worried about that for a few years."

Jane's shocked expression was priceless. "Years? And did you figure it out?"

"Yes." Maura was animated, now. "It's because the regular crystalline structure of ice crystals generate a lower coefficient of..."

The look on Jane's face brought her up short.

"I'm boring you to death, aren't I?"

"Not at all. I don't understand a word you said in that last sentence, but it's really entertaining watching you talk about it."

"Really?"

"Really."

They both read the signals; they lean into each other for a kiss, a kiss that grows into touching, that becomes exploring, that becomes mutual arousal. They both know where this is heading.

They pull back for air, and look into each other's eyes for a long moment, a pause that has to be filled by speech. An easy break, a rhythm they are becoming accustomed to after almost a year of sharing a home, a bed, a life.

During the silence, Maura thinks about the attractions – the quality of Jane, what makes her the magnetic, hypnotic center of Maura's universe. Jane is smart. Jane is gutsy, brave, fearless. She is tough, and kind. Decent. She has a deep sense of honor, duty, justice, and respect - almost obsolete concepts in this world. She's funny. She does not suffer fools gladly. She doesn't make friends easily, but those she lets into her life can count on her unreservedly. She loves her family. She will protect Maura with her life. And she adores Maura with every fiber of her being.

To say nothing of being irresistibly, mind-twistingly sexy.

_I like all this. It this why I fell in love with her?_

Jane touches her lover's bandaged hand. "You're blooded now, you know. You've got some street cred."

"I'd just as soon have passed on that. I'm sorry about getting hurt. I really don't know what I was doing."

"Well, I'm not going to encourage you to do that, but you did save me from a nasty stab wound, I suspect. Are you sure that hand is okay? Can you still cut up bodies?"

"When it heals, yes. All my fingers move – it just hurts a little. It's actually superficial. No tendons or nerves were damaged. I was pretty lucky."

Jane wraps up Maura in an embrace, tucks her securely into her side. "I'm pretty lucky, too."

Maura pokes Jane in the side. "I know."

"Modest, aren't we?"

"Oh, my love. I know how much you need me. I know how much I need you. If you weren't with me I'd...somehow I'd cease to exist. My body would walk around, but there'd be no soul in it. And I know it's the same for you. So yes, we're both lucky that way."

"But...? Maura, there's something bugging you."

"Not really."

"Liar."

"Impossible."

"Evasive, then. C'mon. Cough it up."

"Disgusting expression. All right. I need you. You need me. We say 'I love you' all the time. Is _needing _the same as _loving_?"

"What?"

"All my life, I'd trained myself _not_ to need people. To be able to do without anyone, in case they dropped out of my life. So many people have. So I don't need people to function. I got along, mostly, and I have my own inner life, which is quite rich and has kept me going."

"But what about – you were in love with Garrett, you said...and...Ian? Maybe? How can you not..."

"Listen to me, please. This might take some time. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm all ears."

"You're quite a lot more than ears."

"Goofy."

"_Love_ means affection, attachment, or sexual passion for someone. Like I have for you."

Jane buries her face in her hand. "Then what...?"

"Please. But being _in love_ is a different bowl of fish. No, wait, let me finish. I've been _in love_ twice. Until now. The first time it was an intoxication, a suspension of reason and critical thinking."

"Garrett Fairfield. Oh, and it's "_kettle_ of fish, sweetie."

Maura smirks. "Yes. When I broke it off with him it was like waking up from a dream, or coming off of a bad high. I was myself again, and I wasn't when I was –what I thought was - _in love_ with Garrett."

"Wait. Wha..._you _broke it off?"

"Yes...I realized that Garrett wanted to marry me for two reasons. I was an ornament, an attractive bauble for an important man, and because our families saw the match as one of those dynastic unions, like you read about in Medieval Europe. To consolidate power. I didn't want to play either role, so...that was that. I'm surprised either family is still talking to me.

"Then there was Ian. That was a way of coping with crushing loneliness, disappointment in my own abilities, and profound homesickness. And when it was time to come home, what we had wasn't enough to get either of us to go with the other. When he came back it was a combination of renewing old ties and a mutual sense of defiance, of conspiracy. It was another version of nude dressage. But he's no longer in my life, either.

"Do you see? For me, the whole idea of _being in love_ keeps changing. It's different with different people. I don't know that I've ever actually experienced it. I don't know if I'd recognize it if I did. I have no idea what that condition really means. And it makes me afraid. I never _needed _Garrett, or Ian, or anyone. Yes, Ian broke my heart. You saw him do it. But I could carry on, regardless."

"What are you getting at, Maura?"

"I'm getting at _you_. I had it all figured out. Don't need people. Love is probably temporary. Sex is fun. And then _you, _ damn you, _ you_ came along."

"And I fucked it all up?" Jane is caught between a smirk, a laugh, and a good cry. Maura has never been so transparent, and Jane hurts for her.

"Yes! Yes you did. I met you, got to know you, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Being alone was suffocating. When I was with you, I had air. My life _depended_ on you. And all that careful defense, that not needing anyone, just shattered.

"You do incredible things to me, Jane. In _and _out of bed. That's what I'm calling love. But I've always wondered if what we have is only mutual need, and if that's the case, what does _loving_ each other really mean? And is mutual need enough for a lifetime?"

Maura stops. Jane waits for a while, and then realizes that that is all Maura is going to say. Or she is waiting for a reply. Or an answer. _That_ was a weird thought...Maura Isles waiting for an answer from Jane Rizzoli.

"what do you want me to say, Maura? I don't understand this any better than you. I always felt love from my family. But I kind of get that never needing anyone, either. I lived that way a long time. I didn't want to be vulnerable. I had to be strong. You're the only person I've ever known who lets me be strong _and_ vulnerable. You know my weak points and never take advantage of them.

"But...being in love. First, yes, I need you. Without you, I have no life. That's one reason why I'm here. But there's more. Your happiness. If you're not happy, I'm not happy. And, to me, that's why I am in love with you. Your happiness is necessary to me. To my own happiness. I'm a very dark person, Maura. You give me light. That makes me happy. "

Maura snuggles in tighter. "You see it, love. And I never did. Until today. I defended you. Without even thinking about it. And the reason was that I wanted you whole, and happy, and mine. I couldn't let three seconds ruin your happiness. Plunge you into darkness again. I went through that once before and almost died, fearing the loss, yes, but also living the same black night that you were in. Never again. If I can help it. I want you to be gloriously happy. It means everything to me. And _that's_ being in love."

A pause. A silence that fills the space between them. A silence that breeds new substance.

Then, she kisses Jane, and Jane has never felt such energy, such power, kissing Maura. All tentativeness, all caution is gone. Maura holds back nothing, hides nothing, bares herself utterly, without removing a stitch of clothing. As they kiss, Jane believes that the woman so revealed has all the power of a goddess, to build or destroy at her whim. Jane is instantly on fire, white-hot heat between her thighs, her heart pounding, her mind sharpened to the fine point of consciousness of Maura and nothing else.

Give Maura time, Jane now believes, and she can rule the Earth. But Jane has to be by her side. Alone, they are nothing. Together, they're invincible.

She lifts Maura, takes her up the stairs.

They will love each other. And that love will partake of worship.

-FIN-

**A/N #2: I don't live in Boston (I don't even live in New England), and I've never been there. But I tried to master the geography of the city as well as I could. I don't actually know where homeless people hang out in Boston, but I do know that I've lived in three big cities, and in all three, homeless people congregate along riverfront areas and/or highway bridges or embankments. And in all of those cities, there are concentrations of homeless right near some of the wealthiest neighborhoods, only out of sight by quirks of city layout. They're not bad people. They have reasons for being out there. And under different circumstances you or I could be out there, too, for what we'd see as our own good reasons.**

**Give to a shelter. Volunteer. Hire somebody if you can.**


End file.
